Spring, Year Eight of Jianning. The Shen case is nearing its conclusion. The disgraced minister's household offers up one of its own to save itself, and Xiao Yanzhi, the regent, names the one he wants: the quietest concubine-born daughter.
Shen Wanning changes into blue-gray clothes and moves into the outermost wing of Prince Linchuan's manor. She has no title, cannot attend formal banquets, and can be subjected to an identity check at any time. He means to make the Qingheng Edict the backbone of the new dynasty. She is a sample placed on his desk. The more closely he investigates her, the more it looks like he's protecting her; the more docile she becomes, the less she seems like a mere captive who can only cry. On a spring-rain night, beneath the lamplight, his pen stops over the three characters of her name: Shen Wanning. He closes the register and says only, “Submit it tomorrow.” The next day, guests arrive in the main hall, and he publicly calls her “a mere captive,” but the latch on the side door has already been lifted half an inch.
Two rumors circulate in the capital: the Heng bloodline was wiped out long ago, and only one remains. As long as her name isn't crossed off, she lives another day; once she is written into the edict, private affection becomes treason. The Duke sends his daughter through the manor gates, while grain carts slip a surname that should never have entered the household into the ledgers. She hides her hands in her sleeves, remembering only the western city. He turns an old gold ring and asks only how deep the well is.
Some words can be forgotten as soon as they're heard. Those that can't be forgotten will get people killed. Protecting her means breaking the law. Enforcing the law means killing her. She is still on the register. That line remains blank.
